


A Night Off

by Orvid



Category: The Inheritance Cycle - Christopher Paolini
Genre: Incest, M/M, Murtagh is trans I dont make the rules, Nudity, Sibling Incest, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-14 23:00:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11793276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orvid/pseuds/Orvid
Summary: When Eragon gets overwhelmed, Murtagh decides he needs a night off, outside of the city.  However, when suppressed feelings resurface, the night takes a turn that neither one of them expected.





	A Night Off

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first serious attempt at fic writing and, of course, it’s for an incest ship in a dead fandom. What else? But anyway, this idea has been rattling around in my head for some months and I really just had to get it out. Just as a quick disclaimer, I’m writing a trans character when I, myself, am not trans. If anyone has any suggestions, comments, complaints, ect. do tell me!

Raised voices startled Murtagh out of his reverie and he set his pen down, twisting to look at the wall opposite his desk.  After close to a week in Ilirea, he had decided to use one of the palace’s many open offices in the hopes of getting some work done.  He had managed to get through three reports before his attention began to drift.  Murtagh was staring out the window when an argument began in the adjacent room.  Apparently he wasn’t the only one who thought to take advantage of the palace’s quiet spaces.

 _Quiet no more,_ Murtagh thought resentfully.

He turned his eyes back to his desk and the half written letter that lay on top of it.  He picked his pen back up and set it to paper, hoping that whatever conflict the people next door had gotten embroiled in, it would be resolved soon.  Scouting for a new workplace was a rather unappealing prospect.  Murtagh struggled to keep his mind on his writing as the voices continued to ooze through the wall.  After perhaps five minutes of the voices waxing and waning, he managed to tune them out entirely and refocus on his work.  His pen was moving evenly across the page when, suddenly, a loud slam came from the other room and a woman began to shout, sounding enraged.  Murtagh started so badly that his hand ripped a jagged line across the page with his pen.  Disgusted, he threw the pen down on the desk before whipping round to glare at the wall.  When the fight occurring behind it continued to devolve despite his scowling, Murtagh sighed and started gathering his papers to leave.  He was rising from his chair when the second person got his first proper word in edgewise, bellowing at the woman just as angrily as she had at him.  With a jolt, Murtagh recognized the voice as his brother’s.

Eragon had been in Ilirea a long time before Murtagh arrived and spent nearly all of his time occupied with meetings, negotiations, formal parties, and other obligations.  His position among the riders allowed him no respite from the endless politics.  As a result, Murtagh had seen next to nothing of his brother the entire week.  He was shocked to realize Eragon was only a room away.

Now paying rapt attention to the argument, Murtagh quickly identified the other voice as Arya’s.  His heart twisted in sorrow as he listened to their bitter screams.  He remembered how enraptured Eragon once was with the elven queen.  By the time that Murtagh joined his brother in training new riders, Eragon had gained far better control over his emotions.  It was likely that no one else, save Saphira of course, noticed his lingering affections for Arya.  But late in the night, when the temptations of drink had grown too much, Eragon blearily confessed to the heartache that leaving Arya caused him.  He confessed to Murtagh how much he wanted to see her again, for her to join the riders, join him.  After that night, Eragon always turned to his brother when he’d had to much to drink; no one else would put up his moping and whining.  And for as often as he threatened to up and leave, Murtagh always hauled him back to bed.

Those nights ended when Eragon finally got his wish.  Decades had passed since Galbatorix’s death and peace had stabilized across the land.  The new riders had been set in place and had adjusted to the duties and responsibilities of this new age.  Alagaesia prospered like never before.  And Queen Arya went east to the dragonhold.  Eragon was ecstatic when Arya announced that she would start spending time in the dragonhold as well as in Du Weldenvarden.  It would be a lie if Murtagh said it didn’t sting when Eragon stopped relying on him, but in the end he kept his peace, only wanting the best for his brother.  Things took their course and the two fell fell in love.  They had a son and daughter who both grew up beautiful and powerful in their own right.  To any outside observer, the four of them would appear to be the perfect family, but Murtagh had seen through the facade.

It was a rainy night when Eragon turned up on his doorstep drunk out of his mind and choking down tears.  It felt like it had been an age since Murtagh last saw him like that.  But as he hiccupped through a semi coherent account of his troubles, it became clear that their source hadn’t changed.  Arya.   _I used ta think nothing could stop us.  But- but now we’re jus’... falling apart..._  Murtagh put him in his own bed that night and slept on the sofa instead.

 _Falling apart,_ Murtagh reflected solemnly as he listened to Eragon and Arya.

The two spent several minutes trying to scream over each other and the resulting cacophony made it impossible for Murtagh to make out what they were saying.  However it was clear when the fight reached its breaking point.  Arya’s voice shot up another octave and shrieked something at Eragon at an impressively deafening volume.  Seconds later, Murtagh flinched at the sound of a door being slammed shut.  He was surprised he didn’t hear it fall off its hinges.

The following silence was almost as unbearable than the argument had been.  Murtagh was at a loss of what to do.  He shifted in his chair and pondered over what he just heard and if he should do anything.  He had just concluded that it would be best if he left when he heard another sound from next door.  The broken sob had Murtagh freezing in place, desperately straining his ears to see if he had imagined it.  His heart gave an aching twist within his chest when the sobs continued and, almost against his will, he rose to his feet.  Ignoring the papers still strewn about the desk, Murtagh walked across the room and opened the door as quietly as he could.  He had moved in front of the adjacent door and raised his fist to knock when he finally hesitated.  Murtagh knew better than most that sometimes people needed time alone to sort through their problems.  It might be best if he just walked away and left Eragon in peace.  But then he thought about his brother crying alone to himself and he knocked.

The faint sounds that had been coming from behind the door stopped in an instant.  There was a slight pause, then Eragon said in a barbed tone, “What do you want?  I’m busy right now!”

“Well, I can leave if you want, but I know it can be hard to cry on your own.”

There was a soft shuffling and a brief silence before the door opened slowly.  “Murtagh?”  His brothers face was red and blotchy from crying and his red rimmed eyes stared at Murtagh in pain glazed confusion.  He looked absolutely exhausted.  The sight sent Murtagh’s heart jolting painfully and he had to resist the urge to clutch at his chest.  It hurt to see his brother so torn apart.

“I can leave... if- if you want,” Murtagh repeated, voice wavering.

Eragon continued gazing at him for a few more moments before he moved back from the door frame.  “No...  No you can come in.”

Murtagh followed him inside the room and they both settled on a long couch up against the wall.  They spent the first minute avoiding each other's gazes, neither willing to break the silence that had fallen over them.  Then, cautiously, “Are you alright?”  Murtagh felt foolish asking- clearly Eragon was not alright- but he didn’t know where else to start.

Eragon let out a long sigh and put his head in his hands.  “Arya wants to marry off Kenna,” He said flatly, naming their son.

Murtagh looked over.  “And you don’t agree.”  It wasn’t a question.

“I disagree.  I seriously disagree,” he hissed out.  “I mean, she’s suggesting forcing him into the match that _she_ wants for him!  It’s just absurd how she wants to take his choice out of something _this_ important!  I haven’t a clue what she thinking.  I mean-”  Here Eragon shoved himself to his feet and began pacing back and forth in front of the couch.  He gestured animatedly with his arms as he continued to rant, his voice steadily increasing in volume.

Murtagh sat, listening quietly as his brother raged.  He kept his thoughts to himself, instead letting Eragon vent without interruption.  He wasn’t surprised to hear his anger; he was well aware that Eragon and Arya always argued when the met now a days.

“And then she says that _I’m_ the one that’s holding him back as if- as if this could somehow be _good_ for him!  I just-”  His voice broke and he abruptly stopped pacing.  Eragon stood there for a moment, head hanging down, before he collapsed back onto the couch next to his brother.  “I just don’t know what I should do anymore,” he murmured thickly.  “I haven't loved her.  Not for years.”  The statement hung in the air for a moment as Eragon tried to breath around the lump forming in his throat.  He studiously avoided Murtagh’s eyes as he felt his own fill with tears again, his face red with embarrassment.

Murtagh gazed at Eragon sitting there on the couch, looking so completely defeated, and he could help but put his hand on his shoulder.  When Eragon’s head snapped to meet his eyes, Murtagh moved forward and wrapped his arms around his little brother.  He felt Eragon tense for a moment then press his face into his shoulder and begin to cry.  Murtagh only tightened his grip when Eragon started to tremble, holding fast to him as sobs racked his body.  In spite of himself, Murtagh began to feel tears form in his own eyes.  It hurt him to see Eragon like this; he loved him so much.  Too much.  Having Eragon so close pulled the true depths of Murtagh’s affection, which he had shoved to the far back of his mind, right back to center stage.  He loathed himself for it.  He knew it would only hurt Eragon further if he realized just _how much_ his brother loved him.  Even so, Murtagh couldn’t bring himself to pull away.

Slowly the tears receded.  In a soft voice, he muttered into the other rider’s hair, “Oh Eragon...  What am I going to do with you?”

Eragon pulled back far enough meet Murtagh’s eyes.  “How did you know I needed help?”

“Ah, well,” Murtagh looked away from Eragon’s serious gaze and rubbed at the back of his neck.  “I was working in the room next door when you started arguing.”

“Oh.  Sorry.”

“Don’t be.  I’m glad I could help, even if you just needed someone to talk to.”  They lapsed back into silence, shifting to sit forward again but neither made to move away from the other.  They stayed that way for a while, simply taking comfort in each other’s presence.  Abruptly, Murtagh leaned back, inspecting Eragon from head to toe.  “You know what I think?”

“You think?”

Murtagh ignored the comment and pressed forward.  “I think that you need a day off.  I say we grab a couple of bedrolls and get out of the city, sleep under the stars for a change.  It’ll be fun, like the good old days; traveling the world, so sure nothing could stop us...”

Eragon arched an eyebrow.  “You mean the good old days as in when we were both running for our lives, being attacked by Urgals every other day, and, for all intents and purposes, never slept?  Those good old days?”

“Yeah!  Now there’s the spirit!”  Murtagh beamed at his brother and spread his arms out wide.  “So what do you say?” he asked, a hopeful glitter in his eyes.

Eragon let a sigh and looked away.  There was still a lot of work he ought to get done that day but he couldn’t deny that Murtagh’s offer tempted him.  He reached out his mind to Saphira, wanting to hear her opinion.  She sent him a questioning thought when their minds brushed; his distress was clear for her to see.  In response, Eragon quickly explained everything that happened.

 _Hmmm..._ Saphira hummed thoughtfully when Eragon had finished his explanation.   _It’s true you’ve been stressed lately.  I think a night off will do you some good.  Besides,_ she added, _I’m sure the lords and ladies can survive_ one night _without your company._

 _Honestly, with the way they act, I’m inclined to think that they actually_ can’t _!_  Eragon responded with some amusement.  Nevertheless, he turned back to Murtagh and gave his brother a smile.  “Well, you’ve got me; I’m in.  Now let’s get out of this place.”

Murtagh grinned and stood, offering Eragon a hand up.  He took it, allowing Murtagh to pull him roughly to his feet.  The two of them hurried down the halls, eager to be out of the confines of the citadel.  They only paused long enough for Murtagh to stop at his room and grab a couple of loose blankets.  From there, they moved to a massive stone courtyard, big enough to allow the movement of even the largest dragon.  And it was a good thing because, even as Murtagh and Eragon were walking outside, Thorn was landing in the courtyard.  He swung his massive head around and looked down at the pair with one gleaming red eye.   _Oh?  Does somebody need a ride?_  the dragon teasingly asked.

Murtagh clasped his hands together and smiled up at Thorn.  “Actually, we would _love_ one.”

Thorn made no response except to lower himself towards the ground, letting the two riders climb up to the saddle on his back.  Murtagh settled in the front, leaving Eragon to squeeze into the space left behind him.  He hesitated for a moment then moved forward, pressing against Murtagh’s back in order to sit properly in the saddle.  His heart began to beat so hard and fast he was afraid his brother could feel it.  As Thorn took off, Eragon prayed to every God, know and unknown, that neither he nor his rider decided to touch his mind.   _Man, if Murtagh found out..._  Eragon shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts.  He couldn’t let himself get swept up in this deplorable affection again.  He looked to the side, trying to focus on the scenery instead of the close contact with his brother.

Little did Eragon know that Murtagh was feeling just as flustered as he was.  Murtagh thanked the heavens that Eragon couldn’t see his face, flushed as red as it was from the heat of his body against his back.  His blush only deepened when he heard Thorn’s laughter echoing inside his head.   _Do you mind?!_  he asked angrily, trying to stifle his humiliation.  Thorn gave no answer but Murtagh felt his flash of amusement anyway.  In way of a distraction, he turned slightly and asked Eragon, “Should we head towards the Ramr?  We certainly have a lot of fond memories there.”

He heard Eragon snort with laughter.  “I think you mean stressful and heartbreaking.”  There was a pause.  “But yeah, that’s a fine way to head...”

Murtagh wasn’t sure how to respond.  He remembered how reluctant Eragon had been to let him and Thorn leave after Galbatorix’s defeat but... heartbroken?  Did they truly mean that much to him?  He couldn’t quite bring himself to continue his attempts at making conversation with thoughts swirling around in his head like they were.

Ilirea quickly faded into the distance behind the red dragon and his riders began scouting for a place to make camp.  “There,” said Eragon, pointing down to their right.  “In that copse of trees.”

“Well spotted,” Murtagh replied amiably.  Thorn began to gently angle down to the area Eragon pointed out.  Eragon dismounted first when they landed.  He leaned back to stretch only to stagger forward when something struck him from behind.  Whirling around, he looked from the bundle of blankets at his feet to the feigned look of innocence on Murtagh’s face.  When he caught Eragon’s eye he pressed a hand to his chest as if to ask, _Who, me?_ before bursting out laughing.  “Oh, you should see the look on your face!” Murtagh cried, nearly falling off Thorn in his mirth.

Eragon tried to glare at his brother but, in the end, he couldn’t stay angry; Murtagh’s laugh was too infectious.  Eragon was grinning widely as he landed beside him and used the blankets he had recovered to swat at him.  Murtagh only laughed harder and this time Eragon joined in.

 _As much as I hate to interrupt you two idiots,_  The brothers turned to look back up at Thorn,  _I’m going to head back to the city.  Have a nice night off and do me a favor: try_ not _to burn down the whole forest,_ he said lightly.

Murtagh let out an exaggerated sigh.  “Well damn, there goes all my plans.”  Thorn snorted, sending up a plume of black smoke before taking off, flying back in the direction they came.

Murtagh turned around when he felt Eragon hit his shoulder lightly.  “Come on, let’s see if we can find a clearing or something to settle down in.”  The two walked further into the trees, chatting easily about whatever came to mind.  The time passed quickly between them and they barely even noticed the half an hour that went by before they found an open clearing among the trees.  Eragon glanced around the clearing and said, “We should probably get a fire going before it gets any darker.”

“Agreed.”

The brothers went about setting up camp with surprising ease.  It seemed like their bodies remembered everything from those days spent on the run so many years ago.  It felt like no time at all before they were sitting comfortably on the bedrolls in front of a roaring fire.  A companionable silence had fallen over them when they were startled by a loud grumble.  Murtagh looked over at Eragon and smiled as he put a hand on his stomach.  “Hungry much?”

Eragon sighed and ran a hand through his hair.  “I’ve got to be honest, I didn’t even think about bringing food.”  He started when a heavy bundle was thrown at him; he barely managed to stop it from smacking him in the face.  He turned on his brother.  “Would you quit that?!”

Murtagh tilted his head back and laughed.  “Well, if you don’t want it, then give it back!”

Eragon glared but turned his attention back to the bundle in his hands.  He undid the knot in the fabric and unfolded it to reveal a large hunk of bread, a wedge of cheese, and a ripe red apple.  He met Murtagh’s smug gaze with a look of incredulity.  “How did you know?”

Murtagh shrugged carelessly.  “Lack of foresight is one of the central aspects of your character.”  He laughed over Eragon’s angry spluttering.  “Oh, come on Eragon, you know I’m just messing you!  Besides, you aren’t the only one who’s hungry.  Let’s eat.”  Murtagh pulled out another bundle for himself and began his meal.

Eragon looked back down at his food, grumbling, “Well, I know that you’re a huge prick...”

“Mmph.”

Eragon sent him a questioning glance only to snort as he saw his brother trying to struggle down a massive bite of bread.  His guffaws seemed to be making Murtagh’s job harder; he nearly choked when he tried to follow Eragon’s laughter.  When he finally swallowed he managed to say, “I can’t really deny that.”  Eragon simply continued to snicker.

As they both turned back to their food, the resulting quiet allowed Eragon’s mind to wander.  Against his will, his thoughts returned to the argument he had earlier.  He hated how often he and Arya fought.  He didn’t dislike her, not truly, but the stress of trying to hold things together had broken something in their relationship.  Every time he tried to make peace, start fixing the damage that had been done, they would somehow end up back at each other’s throats.  It was depressing to realize that things would likely never go back to how they were before.  Eragon scowled, remembering what a wonderful friendship they once had together.

“What are you doing looking so grim?”  Murtagh cut across his thoughts.  “It’s your night off; you’re not allowed to look like that.”

Eragon looked over at Murtagh.  Despite his light and teasing words, he saw genuine concern in his brother’s eyes.  He gave him a small smile.  “Sorry, I was just thinking-”

“Not allowed!” Murtagh interrupted loudly.  “I took you out here to distract you and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.  So what do you want to do?  We could spar, practice magic...”  He tapped his chin thoughtfully.  “I could juggle,” he offered.

Eragon’s eyebrows shot up.  “You know how to juggle?!”

“Nope, not at all!” replied Murtagh jovially.  “Trust me, it’ll only make it more entertaining.”

“Oh, I’m sure of that,” said Eragon with a light laugh.  “As tempting as the offer is...”  He trailed off, gazing into the fire as he thought.  “A distraction, huh?  In that case, why don’t you sing for me?”

Now Murtagh was the one spluttering.  “Wha- what gives you the idea that I can sing?  I mean, I-”

“Oh, don’t try to deny it,” Eragon said quickly, cutting him off.  “I _know_ you can sing.  I’ve heard you before.”

Murtagh’s eyes widened.  “What?  When?”  He sounded appalled.

“One day at the dragonhold.  I just happened to overhear; I wasn’t eavesdropping, I swear.  You were out in the woods with Thorn when I just happened to notice you singing...”  He waited for a beat before risking, “You have a very pretty voice.”  Murtagh flushed red and turned away.  Eragon felt bad for bringing the topic up.  “You don’t have to do it, I mean, I just thought it would be nice,” he said softly.

Murtagh let out a long, heavy sigh and looked back over at his brother.  “What would you want me to sing?”  His heart jumped in his chest at the way Eragon’s face lit up.  Oh, he could never deny the boy anything.

“Maybe something peaceful and light?” said Eragon, in way of an answer.

Murtagh racked his brain for a song that would satisfy Eragon’s request.  He finally settled on one and was about to begin when he made the mistake of looking over at his brother.  Eragon was sitting was sitting forward eagerly, staring at Murtagh with rapt attention.  He felt blood and heat rush to his cheeks in embarrassment.  Whirling around, Murtagh turned his back to Eragon in a desperate attempt to escape his piercing gaze.  “How in the world am I supposed to sing with you staring at me like that?” he demanded loudly, feeling unbearably hot.

A jolt of fear went through Eragon; he wasn’t quite sure why he wanted Murtagh to sing for him so badly, but now that it looked like he wouldn’t, he couldn’t help but feel afraid.  In his desperation, he rushed back towards Murtagh, seating himself in front of him.  “I didn’t mean to stare at you, I promise,” said Eragon, hurriedly.  “Here, what about this?  You just close your eyes when you sing.  That way I’m not looking at you!”  He sent the other rider a hopeful glance.

Murtagh huffed and grumbled, “I know that’s not how it works...” but he closed his eyes anyway.  There were a couple of seconds of silence then he opened his mouth and began to sing.  Eragon smiled without realizing it.  It was even better than he remembered.  Murtagh sang like a siren; Eragon listened, completely entranced as he wove a tale of love and warm summer nights.  If Eragon had his way, the song would have never ended.  As it was, the last note wavered out of existence a handful of minutes later.  Murtagh’s eyes fluttered open once more and too late did Eragon realize that he had been staring at him with an expression of wonder and awe.  As he watched, Murtagh’s face went red again and he turned his head away.  “Damn it Eragon, I told you not to stare at me like that!”

Even though he was blushing as well, embarrassed about being caught, Eragon moved forward so he could put his hands on Murtagh’s arms.  “I’m sorry, I am, you just have such a lovely voice; I got a bit distracted.”  He turned back towards him and Eragon’s heart leapt into his throat.  Their faces were barely a half a foot apart.  Voice shaky, Eragon managed, “I really did enjoy it.”

Murtagh didn’t reply, he just kept his gaze fixed on his brother.  The intensity in those gray eyes kept Eragon from pulling back even though he knew he should.  Instead, he leaned forward a couple more inches...

Even though his words were hard to believe, Murtagh knew his brother was telling the truth; it was written all over his face.  His wide, brown eyes dragged him in and he couldn’t help himself when he leaned in just a little bit more...

They met in the middle.

The kiss was soft and fleeting, a barely there sort of brush, and they both relished in it.  They stayed that way for a number of seconds until Eragon dared to move closer, kissing Murtagh with an almost uncertain pressure.  Stiff with shock, Murtagh failed to answer as his brain struggled to process what was actually happening.  Just as Eragon was about to pull back, apologies and excuses ready on his tongue, Murtagh shoved back into him, reaching a hand up to cradle his jaw.  Eragon responded instantly, kissing his brother with all the passion and desire he had kept bottled up for years.  He wrapped his arms around Murtagh’s shoulders and grabbed handholds in his tunic.  Murtagh moved likewise, holding Eragon’s face in a desperate sort of touch while pressing as close to him as he possibly could.

For an agonizing second, the brothers broke apart and simply stared into each other’s eyes, chests heaving for air.  Then the tension shattered and they both lunged forward again.  Eragon moved his hands from Murtagh’s tunic to his head, tangling them in his (surprisingly soft) dark hair.  He felt that if he didn’t have some kind of anchor he might very well just melt.  In return, Murtagh wrapped his arms around Eragon’s torso, bringing him close in an almost painfully tight hold.  Both refused to move away from the other, terrified that if they let go they would find out this this was some sort of cruel joke, a mistake.  So they moved even closer.

Murtagh brushed his tongue faintly against Eragon’s lips, making a hesitant request.  He answered immediately, open his mouth and pressing his tongue against Murtagh’s with a fervor that startled him.  Murtagh moaned softly into Eragon’s mouth when he tugged down on his hair.  Eragon tightened his grip further and groaned gently in reply.  The two would break apart for air only to come crashing together again seconds later.  They kissed with enough force to bruise as they lost themselves in the passion.  Time passed by unheeded and neither could say how long they remained that way.  The atmosphere finally changed when Eragon unknotted one of his hands from Murtagh’s hair and let it drift down his side.  From there it slid up his tunic and pressed burning hot against his back.  Murtagh abruptly lurched backwards, staring at Eragon with wide, lust blown eyes.

“Wait, stop, I need to- shit,”  he stuttered out, running a shaky hand through his tangled hair.

Eragon leaned forward and laid a hand on the other rider’s knee.  “Murtagh?” he asked cautiously, suddenly dreading what might come next.  When Murtagh looked at his brother, Eragon thought he saw fear flash through his gaze.  “What’s wrong?” he prompted.

“I need- I need to tell you something first...”

Eragon didn’t reply.  He looked at Murtagh expectantly, silently willing him to continue.  “It’s just that I...  Fuck,” he let out a harsh bark of laughter and started wringing his hands together nervously.  “How do I even say something like this?”  His breathing came in short rasps and he refused to meet Eragon’s eye.

Suddenly shoving himself to his feet, Murtagh muttered a hurried, “Oh, fuck this,” and reached for the edge of his tunic.  Eragon almost lunged out and grabbed him by the wrist but managed to stop himself when he realized Murtagh wasn’t leaving.  Instead he quickly ripped off his tunic before reaching to the hem of his pants.  Eragon furrowed his brow as he watched Murtagh struggle out of those too.  He couldn’t fathom what he wanted to tell him by stripping.  Perhaps it was an issue of self consciousness or maybe- oh.

Eragon could feel Murtagh’s searching gaze burning into his forehead but couldn’t bring himself to look up.  Without really meaning to, he said, “I’ll admit, I’ve got a couple of questions.”

Murtagh let out a long sigh and seated himself again, collapsing into a cross legged position.  He hesitated, then, with eyes fixed on the ground, launched into his tale.  He told Eragon about how, from as early as he could remember, everyone he knew told him he was a girl.  He told him about how he never thought it felt right.  When he moved to Uru’baen after Morzan died, he simply began telling everyone that he was a boy and prayed to whatever Gods were out there that no one would find out.  He told him about the time that someone _did_ find out but, instead of the beating he had been taught to expect, Tornac simply accepted Murtagh.  From then on he struggled his way forward, doing his best to live as he felt he was, not as his body said he was, even going so far as to go through surgery on his chest.  He told him about the grief and pain that the King gave him on this account and how hard it was to find peace with his body after that.

“I’ve accepted how I am and what I’ve been through, I just thought... if we’re going to move forward with this that you ought to know,” Murtagh finished, finally looking up at his brother.  What he saw was an expression of such genuine affection that it stole his breath away.

“Oh Murtagh, what am I going to do with you?”  Eragon moved towards him and intertwined their fingers.  “You’re still my brother.  Nothing in the world can ever change that.”  Murtagh’s eyes gleamed with pure joy and fondness, enough to make Eragon feel like his heart might melt.  The two kissed once again, soft and chaste but absolutely overflowing with love.

When he pulled back, Murtagh wrinkled his nose and said abruptly, “Oh, for fuck’s sake, where the hell are my pants?”  Eragon tipped his head back and laughed as he swung around looking for wherever he had thrown all his clothes.  As he watched Murtagh shove his arms back through the sleeves of his tunic, he couldn’t help but whisper a faint, “I love you.”

Murtagh froze.  He didn’t turn to look, but Eragon still heard him give an equally quiet, “I love you too.”

That night they fell asleep wrapped in each other’s arms, Eragon with his head pressed into his brother’s neck and Murtagh with his face brushing against his brother’s hair.

 

* * *

 

Eragon woke up the next morning to the chirping of birds and gentle sunlight filtering down through the trees above.  His back was pressed up against Murtagh’s chest and there was a muscular arm tucked around his waist.  Eragon smiled at the feeling of Murtagh’s steady breathing stirring his hair slightly.  Hoping to get up without waking his brother, Eragon tried to gingerly extract himself from his grip but Murtagh refused to budge.  He tried to shift into a sitting position.  Murtagh simply pulled him back down.

Eragon twisted around and poked him in the side.  “Come on Murtagh, it’s morning already.  Time to get up.”  He only grunted and tightened his hold on Eragon.  With a long sigh Eragon abandoned his attempts at delicacy.  Ignoring Murtagh’s grip, he maneuvered his legs underneath himself and tried to shove himself to his feet.  Still not releasing Eragon, Murtagh was hauled up with him and let out a long, loud groan.  With surprising strength given his sleep hazed state, Murtagh slammed himself into Eragon’s legs sending crashing back down.  The moment Eragon hit the ground, he splayed himself on top of him.  Murtagh buried his face in the crook of his neck then promptly fell back asleep.

Eragon looked up at the sky and muttered, “Why me?” before turning his gaze back to his brother.  After no small amount of struggling, he managed to wrestle Murtagh into a slightly more comfortable position.  As he looked at his sleeping face, he found he couldn’t bring himself to wake him up again.  Instead, Eragon settled back down at his side where he eventually dozed off, whiling away the rest of the morning in the comfort of his dreams.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick psa, I don't really recommend stripping as a way of coming out. I just imagine this a world where transgender hasn't been coined and Murtagh has never been good with words anyway, so..


End file.
